


i am with you

by Dialux



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (by this i'm talking about Starks), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Brother-Sister Relationships, F/M, Gen, Protective Family, Protective Siblings, Sister-Sister Relationship, Stark family feels, or that fic in which i go completely ridiculous, quite a few people are dead before the start of this fic, sorry about that, the harry potter au that barely mentions harry potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9317468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dialux/pseuds/Dialux
Summary: Two years after Harry Potter defeats Voldemort, the war isn’t over; with the aurors still maintaining martial law over Great Britain, the victims this time aren’t muggleborns but purebloods.And not just any purebloods- the oldest families.The Starks were safe inside Winterfell’s walls, but when the Lannisters betray them the only ones to escape are Sansa and Bran. Angry, alone, and afraid, they head to Jon Snow for help in proving their family’s innocence.





	

**i. how dare you**

Sansa screamed when the room exploded.

Had she not seen the cold look on Cersei’s face before the windows shattered, she might have been under an illusion as to what was happening. Had she not seen the way the Lannisters kept very still, unsurprised, she might have fooled herself. As it was, however, Sansa didn’t have that luxury. As Joffrey’s hand tightened bruisingly on her shoulder, she threw an elbow into his gut and twisted away, her wand sliding into her hand with frightening ease.

The Starks might have survived the Second Wizarding War, but they hadn’t survived unscathed.

_ “Caligo!”  _ She cried, and dove into the ensuing fog. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a thin, dark figure dart away; when she turned slightly, the flash of spellfire nearly blinded her. After a bare hesitation, she tapped her head and felt the cold slime of a Disillusionment Charm taking hold. Now invisible, she moved as slowly and carefully as she could through the mist, towards the spellfire. Her only advantage against men trained to kill was surprise.

It was Bran, Sansa realized with a start. Her younger brother was duelling two aurors, and while he wasn’t  _ winning-  _ he wasn’t losing, either. Sansa stunned one man and petrified the other, catching Bran’s sleeve as soon as she was sure they’d fallen and yanking him into an alcove.

“Bran, it’s  _ me,”  _ she hissed into his ear, when he struggled against her grip. “Bran, do you- do you know what happened?”

“I-” he paused, and then shifted, pressing closer to her, tight enough that she could feel the shivers wracking his body. “Aurors.” He looked up at her, a cut above one eye, the blood dripping down like a brilliant teardrop. “They- they took Mum. Mum and Robb and Rickon.”

Sansa barely bit back the curses lining her throat, before nodding sharply. “The Lannisters have wards. They couldn’t have gotten inside Casterly Rock without permission.”

“They betrayed us,” he whispered.

She nodded again. There was no other explanation. The Starks had been safe inside Winterfell for the duration of the war. They’d remained quiet, and out of the public eye, for near as long afterwards. This ceremony was the first time all of them had left their home since Dumbledore’s death, in fact- and it’d all been for Sansa, Sansa and her stupid dreams about a betrothal to one of the oldest, richest houses in England. 

“Arya ran,” said Sansa. “I saw her. She’ll get out.”

“And what about  _ us?” _

Sansa frowned, gripped her wand tighter, and tried to apparate. She ended up writhing on the floor, choking back gasps of pain.

“Anti-apparition wards,” she gritted out, and dragged herself to her feet, leaning heavily on Bran for a long moment before straightening. “Come on, we need to try to figure something else out. The number of aurors is only going to increase the longer we wait.”

They snuck into one of the old stone hallways that were more commonly used for servants, the ones that Sansa’d been admiring not quite three hours previous. Her  _ caligo  _ spell wasn’t strong enough to work here, however, so they had to be careful. 

It was three hallways later that the aurors caught up to them. Sansa kept Bran behind her and retreated as quietly as she could, her wand flashing in a colorful blur; but three aurors had taken down Loras Tyrell himself- Sansa, who had only her own imagination and three years spent duelling Robb and Arya to aid her, stood no chance.

She’d just dodged an  _ expelliarmus,  _ shielded against three  _ reductos,  _ and managed to stun one auror, when the other two fell. Bran’s shout was the only thing that stopped her from hexing the man who stood behind them.

_ “Dad!”  _ He leapt forwards, embracing him. 

Sansa sagged, slightly, her wand dipping to the ground, and then hugged him. After a moment, he stepped away, eyes worriedly looking over the two of them.

“Follow me,” said their father. “Sansa, keep your wand up. You’re the first two I’ve found; do you know where-”

“Mum’s been captured,” said Sansa. “So’s Robb and Rickon. I saw Arya leave, though.”

“We need to get out.” He looked around. “The halls will be crawling with aurors soon. Those three were just the beginning.”

Bran frowned. “Sansa says we can’t apparate.”

Their father nodded. “There are anti-apparition wards all over the place. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from being in the Eyrie, while there may be anti-apparition wards over the building, you know where they don’t put them up?”

Sansa’d heard the story of her father’s escape from the Eyrie in the First Wizarding War enough times to know what he meant. She also knew precisely how ridiculous his idea was.

“No,” she said. “No, Dad, we  _ can’t.  _ What if they haven’t? And you know how difficult it is-”

“It’s the only hope we have,” he said.

“What are you two talking about?” 

Sansa looked at Bran. “We need to find a window,” she said, reluctantly.

…

Five minutes later, they came across a full platoon of soldiers.

Ned went pale, and then looked back at his children- his eldest daughter, his second son. Sansa was already straightening, getting ready for the fight. Bran had drawn his wand, as well.

But there were too many aurors to even think of battling their way through.

“No,” he said softly.

Sansa’s brows pulled together. “Dad-”

“There are windows just down the corridor,” said Ned. “We can’t all make it- you’ll need a distraction, Sansa.”

“You can’t mean-” she went pale. “Dad,  _ no.  _ We won’t make it without you.”

“You will.” He stepped close to her, and gripped her forearms. “Listen to me- I’ll distract them. You’ll sneak past them, the both of you, and you’ll jump out of that window, and you’ll apparate away. Go home, Sansa. But if you feel that you can’t stay there- there’s a place, alright? A man in Hogsmeade, named Jon. Jon Snow. He’ll help you. Now go, you hear me?  _ Go.” _

Sansa shivered, but her hand was tight on her wand, and there were no tears in her eyes.

“Good girl,” said Ned, pressing a kiss to her hair, and then Bran’s. “I love you. Both of you. Now, don’t look back, no matter what you hear. Just go.”

Bran nodded, and his hand slipped around Sansa’s, and Ned placed a Disillusionment Charm around them both. 

Then he stepped out of the side-corridor and started hexing.

Three minutes later, he’d been brought to his knees. The lead auror stepped forwards, and Ned felt ropes spin out, forcing his head back, binding his hands together.

To most, that would’ve made them drop their wand. Ned wasn’t  _ most people. _

He held on, and managed to disarm the auror who’d bound his hands before the others hit him with  _ expelliarmus.  _ The lead auror kicked him in the gut for his pains, forcing a startled grunt from his lips.

“Stop resisting,” he snarled. “You’re done for, Stark. You and all your family.”

A heartbeat later, the unmistakable sound of glass shattering echoed through the corridor. Ned stared up at the lead auror and bared his teeth, blood-flecked.

“Not quite,” he said.

…

**ii. you will not kill us**

They landed inside Sansa’s rooms.

Bran looked up at her, eyes wide, and she hugged him tightly, heart pounding in her fingertips.

“We made it,” he whispered. Then, louder:  _ “We made it!” _

She slumped back and scrubbed at her face, relief lighting up her stomach. They’d survived. Their family was imprisoned, perhaps, but she’d show the government that they were wrong- the Starks had never supported pureblood supremacy, and even if they had, it’d certainly not been enough to merit an  _ auror raid.  _

Though she’d heard rumors- something about how the Baratheons hadn’t done anything wrong, only been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That the bloodfeud between the Martells and the Targaryens- going back all the way to before the First Wizarding War, to Elia Martell’s death- had only become bloody enough to completely wipe out the Targaryens when the aurors interceded. That there were  _ quotas,  _ of purebloods to be caught and punished.

Sansa rose to her feet and went to wash her face.

…

That night, Sansa felt the particular itch of intruders run down her spine.

Dread sank into her chest, and she grabbed Bran- neither had felt comfortable sleeping alone, which she was grateful for, now. They’d packed a few clothes, as well, and their wands were close at hand.

“Bran,” she hissed.  _ “Bran.  _ Wake up.”

He startled. “Wha’ssit?”

“Intruders.” His eyes widened, and Sansa held a finger to her lips before rising to her feet. “Come on.”

“Where’re we goin’?”

“Do you remember what Dad told us, way back before the War?”

“...no.”

Sansa lit her wand with a gentle wave and picked up the pace. Now that she was properly awake, she could tell: there were people  _ trying  _ to get in, but they hadn’t yet. They still had some time, but not much.

“The wards in Winterfell are locked into the heart tree,” she said quietly. “They’re blood wards, and they require blood to maintain their strength.”

Bran startled. “You’re not going to die!”

Sansa reached out and ruffled his hair. “No,” she said. “I’m not going to die. But a little blood- it can do wonders. And if we have to leave, best to leave Winterfell safe, right?”

“Do we  _ have  _ to leave?”

“I think so,” she said, as they arrived at the godswood. “Before they put up their own wards and trap us inside. We can’t save anyone if we’re too busy trying to save ourselves, right?”

He nodded. 

Sansa hesitated- she was ashamed to admit it, but she did- when it came time to cut her hand open. Robb and Arya wouldn’t have paused for even a moment. Her parents- they were all so brave. And here stood Sansa, the only one free of them all, the only one who could care for Bran. It would’ve been so much better if Robb had been the one to escape.

But Sansa was here, and she would be as brave as any of them, as all of them.

Breathing deep, she slashed her wand down, and as the blood fell on the white bark, a brilliant ring of silvery-blue exploded out of the heart tree, knocking them both down. 

After a long minute, Bran asked, “D’you think it worked?”

Sansa laughed, short. “Yes,” she said, and reached out, hand tight on Bran’s. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” he said.

She closed her eyes, leaned back, and let the world break apart as they apparated away.

…

“Are you Jon Snow?” 

Jon blinked. There was a young woman on his doorstep, and for all he would’ve slammed the door in most people’s faces, there was something about this one that made him hesitate. Perhaps it was the heavy cloak she wore, or the haunted look written across her features.

“Aye,” he said slowly. “What’s it to you?”

Her face hardened. “My name is Sansa. My father sent me to you- told me that if I ever found myself friendless, I should come to you.”

“I- what?” Jon shook his head. “Who’s your father?”

“Can I come inside?”

“Not until you tell me who you are.” 

Sansa shifted, and Jon abruptly realized that she held a wand in the hand hidden under her cloak. “My name is Sansa Stark,” she said. “My father is Eddard Stark, and if you have ever borne friendship to my father you shall  _ let us in,  _ right now.”

Jon felt all the blood rush from his face; he steadied himself against the door and then waved her in. A moment later, Sansa shook her sleeves back, revealing the wand. But she didn’t look back at him until she’d revealed a boy behind her- their hair was the same color, and so were their eyes. Her brother, most likely.

“I heard the news,” he said quietly. “That- that the Starks were taken prisoner.”

“They have everyone else,” said Sansa, jaw firm, shoulders thrown back. “All except for my sister. And maybe a friend was able to take Rickon in. But everyone else- my parents, and Robb- they’re captured.”

He nodded and led them further into the flat. “Who’s the boy?”

The boy in question bristled, but Sansa placed a calming hand on his shoulder and sent Jon a warning look.

“My brother,” she said. “Bran.”

Jon swallowed. “You should- freshen up. You can take this room if you want. Tell me everything over some food, alright?”

Sansa nodded, and for the first time looked grateful.

…

Bran slept after eating his sandwich, curling over the couch. 

Sansa, however, found that she couldn’t sleep. Jon had made some tea, and she sipped it slowly, savoring it even after it’d gone cold. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been this cold, or exhausted, or afraid. The sick worry for their family left her stomach roiling.

“How did this start?” She asked miserably.

She’d been talking to herself, but Jon answered.

“It was  _ fine  _ in the beginning,” he said. “Right after the war ended- there were too many purebloods who’d supported Voldemort. The Aurors needed heavy-handed measures. But now? Innocent people are being hurt. There’s a quota, and they’ll do anything to meet it. It’s  _ sickening.” _

“The rumor’s true, then?”

Jon sighed. “Aye, true enough. Gods, you’d think they’d learn from the muggleborn registry- but then, there’s always been fewer purebloods. And they’re smarter, now. They do it quieter.”

“So nobody even knows who’s been attacked,” she whispered. “I heard- the Greyjoys. But nothing more, so I thought-”

“Theon gave a good fight,” said Jon grimly. “And Asha escaped, I hear. If she was smart, she’d have gone to the Continent and changed her name completely. But you’re right- at the end of this, the Lannisters are going to be the only old house remaining. Slimy bastards, the lot of ‘em.”

“And here I was, wanting to marry them.”

_ “What?”  _

Sansa sent him a sharp look when Bran shifted sleepily. After a pause, she explained.

“I want to become an Unspeakable,” she told him, and then snorted. “I  _ wanted  _ to become an Unspeakable, I suppose. And my whole idea was on melding rune and charm magic- I mean, runes are far more powerful than charms, but they take time to create, and you need a proper medium, all that stuff. But imagine something that’s as quick as a charm- all you have to do is wave your wand- and you get the power of a rune! I- really wanted to work on that. But then the War happened, and Dad locked us up in Winterfell, and- well. The Unspeakables only allow you to join after three years of training, right? I was in my second year when Dumbledore died. And they don’t offer second chances. I was really angry, and disappointed, but then I heard that there was a Lannister in the Unspeakables department- Tyrion Lannister- so I got in touch with his sister and started talking.” Sansa picked at her robes. “She told me a lot of things, and one thing led to another, and- well. I was going to be betrothed to her son, Joffrey.”

He arched an eyebrow. “That’s- interesting. How do you go from wanting to be an Unspeakable to getting betrothed?”

“By losing sight of the bigger picture.” She sank further against the couch, and then breathed out slowly. “I was an idiot.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Jon told her. Then, rising, he said, “Alright, we need to figure out where you’re going, and how you’re getting there. Obviously you’ll want to be together, so-”

“Wait,” said Sansa, frowning. “What’re you talking about?”

“I thought that’s why you came to me.” He waved a hand. “I mean, that’s what I did during the war. I’m really good at making portkeys, so…”

“I’m not  _ leaving,”  _ she said.

Jon blinked. “Then what are you doing?”

Sansa dragged herself to her feet and began pacing, nervous energy flickering through her veins.

“I’m  _ going  _ to save them,” she said. “I can’t just- leave them behind!”

“And how, precisely, do you plan on doing that?”

“I- okay.” Sansa scrubbed a hand down her face. “What, exactly, is your relationship to my dad?” She turned and met Jon’s eyes. “How do you know him?”

“I was Robb’s friend in Hogwarts,” replied Jon. “After Hogwarts- I tried to become an Auror, but my mum got sick and I needed to take care of her. So I came to live with her. During the war, I made portkeys for muggleborns. Your dad and mum helped make documents, smuggle them out. They needed a place close to Hogwarts, and Robb told ‘em about me.”

“How many people?”

“What?”

“How many people did you smuggle out?” Sansa willed him to think faster. “I mean- is there evidence? They’re calling Dad a pureblood supremacist. If we can prove he wasn’t-”

He grimaced. “No. We can’t. I’m sorry, but they were very careful. There’s no trace of anything at all. Hells, we can’t even  _ contact  _ the wildlings.”

“Wildlings?”

“It’s what we called ‘em,” he said. “The people we smuggled out.”

Sansa slumped backwards onto a nearby chair. “So there’s nothing we can do.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and the emotion looked genuine enough on his face.

A moment later, Sansa’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed on Jon.

“You said you were Robb’s friend.”

He nodded. “I was. I am.”

“Then what was he doing during this- smuggling operation?” Sansa demanded. “He left Winterfell just as much as Mum and Dad. We all knew they were doing  _ something.  _ What did  _ he _ do?”

“I- don’t know.” His brows pulled together. “Robb helped us out sometimes, don’t get me wrong, but nowhere near as much as your parents.” He took her mug and Bran’s plate and flicked a  _ scourgify  _ at them before dispelling them back to their places in his kitchen. 

A moment later, he spoke.

“He told me about a place,” Jon said slowly. “A place- a safe house, I think, or something similar.”

“Can you apparate us there?” Sansa asked, turning to look at him.

“No.” Before she could get completely disheartened, he went on, “But he did give me a portkey.”

“Then what’re we waiting for? Let’s go!”

He pursed his lips. “Take a break,” said Jon firmly. “Sleep. You won’t do anyone any good if you’re a sleep-deprived mess. I’ll give you some Dreamless Sleep if you want, but you need your rest.” He nodded and went to a cupboard, extending a pale blue flask to her. “We’ll go tonight, alright?”

_ “No,”  _ snapped Sansa. “We go  _ now.  _ Those- those Aurors could be doing- whatever- to them. To my parents, to my brother. To  _ your  _ friend. Don’t you care? One day could be the difference between life and death for them!”

For the first time that night, anger flickered in Jon’s eyes.

“I care quite a lot,” he said lowly. “Robb is like a brother to me. And I don’t want to see him dead just as much as you do. But we cannot save anyone if we’re too busy trying to save ourselves, which is what will happen if we go into this without  _ thinking.  _ Take a break- I mean it. And we’ll go tonight.”

Sansa exhaled sharply, glaring at him. When Jon didn’t waver, she snatched the flask from his hand and strode into the room furiously.

…

Damn the man.

He was right. A few hours of deep sleep, coupled with some proper tea when she woke up, did wonders for her temper and her concentration. Which was irritating enough, but then Jon had to go and actually do work while she slept- tracing coordinates, and marking down dates, and trying to identify whether the place they were going to was safe enough to visit. 

But Sansa wasn’t a resentful sixteen year old any longer; she sighed, and stretched, and said, “Thank you,” to Jon, and actually meant it.

His eyes crinkled in a small smile when he looked at Sansa through the top of his glasses. “I’ve known enough scared people over the past couple years,” he told her. “And a little bit of rest never hurt anyone.”

Sansa shrugged. “Is it safe to go, then?”

Bran was showering; thus far, the plan was that once he was finished, they’d leave.

“Ah, well, near as I can tell, it is.” He frowned. “I’m pretty sure it’s Unplottable, actually, so… no way to tell. But if I can’t find it, then it’s really likely that the Aurors won’t even go looking. They aren’t really trying to get land, from what I can tell.”

“What  _ are  _ they getting?” Sansa sighed. “Purebloods? It’s idiocy. I mean, I can’t imagine Stannis Baratheon was ever in violation of any law, much less the one that got him thrown in Azkaban.”

“Which was?”

“Using Unforgivables on muggles,” said Sansa. “It doesn’t make  _ sense,  _ do you see?”

Jon nodded. “I’ve heard his reputation. The whole thing happened right after another scandal, right? Something about his nephew, and Stannis being a cold-hearted bastard.”

Sansa went still, eyes widening. “Robert Baratheon was Joffrey’s dad,” she said. “When he died, Joffrey was supposed to inherit. But Stannis took the Lordship instead, and disowned Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. It’s why we call them Lannisters, now. Cersei took them in. And three weeks later, the aurors came for the Baratheons.”

“That’s… suspiciously good timing,” said Jon.

“Who’re the people in charge of the aurors?” Sansa asked slowly.

He reached for a stack of parchments and dug through them, finally surfacing with a Daily Prophet. “‘Ramsay Bolton completes the overhaul of the auror offices as of this December, joining Alliser Thorne and Janos Slynt as the new faces of the force,’” he read aloud, and then looked up at her. “That was- about a year ago.”

“You know what we should look for?” Sansa asked. 

Jon lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“After we come back from Robb’s special place, of course.”

“Of course,” he echoed.

“We should look for how close those three men are to the Lannisters,” she said.

…

They portkeyed into a castle. A great big ruin of a castle, in fact, and all of Sansa’s attempts at trying to reveal something  _ more  _ than fallen stone walls and rot revealed absolutely nothing. It was utterly confusing.

What it was was  _ disheartening. _

She blasted a stone into dust with a  _ reducto  _ and then stomped around, eyeing the structure for a piece that she could destroy without bringing the castle down around their ears. A moment later, she felt a faint tickle across the underside of her jaw, like a stray, actinic wind.

“Jon?” She called, eyes narrowing. 

He glanced back at her. “You feel something?”

“I- yes. D’you know what anti-apparition wards feel like?”

“They hurt if you try to apparate out while under them,” he said. “But- nothing more.”

“They feel like a storm,” said Sansa, wand up. “Like a sky heavy with rain, when you can all but taste the lightning in the air. Guess what I’m feeling right now?”

“You think there’re anti-apparition wards set up here?” Bran asked.

Sansa nodded. “There were only five ancestral homes built to hold the wards- I read about them in my first year of Unspeakable training. Casterly Rock, Winterfell, Highgarden, Storm’s End, and… the Eyrie.” She swallowed. “Of the five, the only one to have fallen into disrepair is the Eyrie.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jon. “You think this is the ruined home of the Arryns? They’re all dead- long dead.”

“I know,” she said. “Dad was here when the Death Eaters attacked in the First War. He couldn’t hold against their numbers, and they pushed him out of the window- but Dad apparated in midair instead of just dying.”

Jon looked surprised. “That’s… difficult.”

Bran grinned. “Sansa did it too, when we ran from Casterly Rock.”

“Did you?”

Sansa felt herself flush at the admiration in Jon’s eyes. It’d been anger and fear and something colder, slimier, that had been at the forefront of her mind when she took Bran’s hand and fled. But here, under a sky so blue it looked like it might bleed if she reached out and touched it, she felt like she might just be worth his regard.

“I did what had to be done,” she said evenly, and nodded to the stone. “But, why would Robb have given you a portkey to  _ here?  _ It’s a ruined castle. There’s absolutely nothing here!”

“Can you identify the ambient magic, though?” Jon asked.

“Maybe,” said Sansa, helplessly. “But  _ why?” _

“Because Robb’s always liked secrets,” said Jon. “And guess what? I took Ancient Runes in Hogwarts too. Wards grow weaker if nobody lives inside them- there’s magic in feeling a place is a home. After twenty years, this place should be falling apart.”

Sansa stared at him for a long minute, and then whirled around, spellfire blazing from her wand.

_ “Nomine patriarcha!”  _ She called at the end, and watched a smoky, dark-haired figure coalesce. 

Bran’s went pale, but his voice was steady when he said, “That’s Robb.”

Sansa swallowed and flicked her wand in a clockwise circle.  _ “Nomine matrem.” _

The woman that appeared almost made Sansa drop her wand. It drew a choked sound from Bran’s throat, and a confused frown from Jon.

“You know this woman?” He asked.

“Yes,” said Sansa, staring deep into Myrcella Lannister’s eyes. “Yes, we know her very well.”

…

**iii. my rage is deathless**

As Sansa and Jon went hunting, Bran drank Polyjuice and headed to the public archives of the Ministry and dug through old  _ Daily Prophets,  _ trying to find information on Janos Slynt, Alliser Thorne, and Ramsay Bolton. It was frustrating- not to mention boring- but at the end of three days, Bran had a good handle on two of them, if not all three.

“Ramsay Bolton’s father worked for Tywin Lannister,” he said, spreading the papers over the table. “Janos Slynt worked directly under Jaime Lannister- I found that when  _ he  _ was the one to release a statement to the press when Jaime got in trouble a couple months ago for brawling with a woman named Brienne Tarth- so both of them have got a link to the Lannisters.” He sighed. “But I couldn’t get anything for Alliser Thorne, so…”

Jon shifted uneasily. “Leave him to me,” he said. 

Sansa shrugged when Bran arched a questioning brow at her. 

“Myrcella goes shopping in Diagon Alley on Tuesdays,” she said. “We’re meeting her tomorrow. Hopefully we can figure everything out by then, right?”

Bran straightened. “I’m coming too.”

“Bran,” said Sansa.

He shook his head stubbornly. “I’m coming. I deserve to see her. To look in her eyes and ask _why._ How she could choose to do such a thing to him, when she stayed in the Eyrie with Robb long enough for the land to consider her its mother. I deserve that, and _you can’t take it from me.”_

“Mother would never forgive me if I let you get caught!” Sansa snapped. “It isn’t about me taking things from you. You need to be  _ safe,  _ Bran-”

“-I need to look at her,” Bran said, voice rising. “I need to do something-”

“-you need to be  _ alive-” _

“Is that what you are?” He looked at her, scathing and disdainful. “Alive, Sansa? You were the only one to give up everything for Dad’s  _ paranoia.  _ How does it feel to know that you’ll never achieve your dreams? That you gave it up just to see another morning?”

Sansa went white, and Bran felt the first stirrings of regret at the sight. 

“Fine,” she said.  _ “Fine,  _ Bran, let’s do it your way. Let’s all jump outside and forget about safety and just be ourselves, damn the world. You know  _ nothing  _ of what happened. Do you remember Margaery? She was so alive, so pretty, so defiant- and the Death Eaters killed her.” She leaned forwards. “Right in front of me.”

“I didn’t-”

“No, you didn’t know.” Sansa’s voice was very level. “I didn’t want anyone to know. But I refused to come home until that happened. And then I was afraid, and I agree that it wasn’t a very Gryffindor thing to do, but I’m not a Gryffindor anyways. You think I didn’t know when you and Arya snuck out? You think I slept easy, knowing what world you were walking into?” She advanced on Bran, and the steady look in her eyes almost made him recoil. “You think I slept at all, Bran?”

Bran remembered one night, when he’d gone to Diagon Alley to meet Jojen and gotten caught in a mob rioting against the Ministry’s decision to place the country under martial law- they’d gotten separated, and Bran had almost lost his wand, and he’d likely have been trampled under the crowd’s feet had someone not propped him up and shoved him through it all. By the time he’d caught his breath and looked around, they’d disappeared. He’d thought he saw a red-haired person disappear into the crowd, but dismissed it as a trick of the light.

“You followed me,” he breathed.

“I worried,” said Sansa coldly. “I have spent a lifetime worrying. And you do not get to name that a waste, do you understand? Our house must survive. Our  _ blood  _ must survive. You aren’t coming tomorrow, not if I have to tie you up and lock you inside!”

“You  _ followed  _ me!”

“I did what I had to do to make sure you survived. And that’s what I’m  _ going  _ to do so long as we’re alone, do you understand?” 

She turned and strode out of the flat, slamming the door behind her hard enough that the rocking chair next to Jon rattled.

Bran winced at the look on his face- a peculiar mixture of awkwardness and amusement. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered, and then turned and walked back into his room.

…

The next morning, right on time, Myrcella showed up and went to a corner table, seating herself gracefully.

Sansa held her Notice-Me-Not charm in place as Myrcella seated herself right in front of her, firmly anchoring it and then flicking her wand in a slightly larger arc, placing another Notice-Me-Not around the entire table. Only with her wand pointed directly at Myrcella did she let the shroud surrounding her fall away.

“Don’t move,” said Sansa.

Myrcella paled when she saw Sansa, her eyes widening into blue saucers.

“Sansa,” she whispered. “You’re- you’re  _ here.  _ I don’t…  _ how?” _

“Luck,” said Sansa, “and my father’s sacrifice.” She firmed her jaw. “Tell me, did you know what would happen?”

_ “No,”  _ said Myrcella vehemently. “No, I didn’t know anything. If I did, if I’d known  _ something-  _ I’d have told- well. I’d have told-”

“Robb?” Sansa supplied.

She inhaled slowly. “Yes. How did you know?”

“You weren’t terribly careful about hiding the Eyrie,” said Sansa. “You and Robb both. The land recognizes you as its mother.” She leaned forwards, slightly. “Now- give me one good reason why I shouldn’t do to you what your family did to mine.”

Myrcella went whiter than the pale robes she wore. “I didn’t want any of this,” she said. Then, slightly shriller, “You have to believe me! I didn’t-”

“Lower your voice,” hissed Sansa, wand twitching. But Myrcella’s panic was startling, the suddenness of it all, the sheer amount of fear- frowning, Sansa asked, slowly, “Didn’t want any of- what?”

“Your father’s trial with the Dementors is…” Myrcella trailed off, horror showing clear on her face. “You didn’t know.”

Sansa felt like she couldn’t breathe. “My father is being tried by  _ Dementors?” _

“It’s what they’re doing for all the purebloods!” Myrcella cried, trying to edge away as sparks spurted from the tip of her wand, Sansa’s grip so tight the wood creaked. “Their- it’s nothing new!”

“It’s barbaric,” spat Sansa, and then turned away, searching for patience. “No-  _ no,  _ tell me, when is it?” 

“Two days’ time,” said Myrcella. 

“What about- what about Rickon?” Sansa asked, heart in her throat. Her mother and Robb were likely in Azkaban, but Rickon was so  _ young- _

“I think the Mormonts took him in.” Myrcella hesitated. “My grandfather wasn’t happy about it.”

Sansa thought for a long minute. Then she nodded, and shook her hair back over her shoulders, surrounding herself in cold composure, because to falter was to break apart.

“Fine. Now, I’m going to show you something you and yours never even tried to offer my family, Myrcella: mercy.” She breathed deep. “You owe us. That’s the long and short of it. My brother, and my parents, are imprisoned because of your silence. I’m asking you to choose between my brother and yours- and I’m thinking that isn’t all that difficult.” Sansa nodded to Myrcella’s heavy bell-sleeves which had slid back, revealing dark, purpling bruises. 

Myrcella stared down at her lap, and then looked up, grief painted across her features. “What do you want me to do?”

“Go home,” said Sansa. “Tell your mother that you’re going to France for a few days, you’ve done it before, I know you have. If you want to help me, you’ll come to the Eyrie before midnight tonight.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I escaped your family home while it crawled with aurors and was covered with the most modern wards,” Sansa said coldly. “I evaded capture for another week and the aurors still don’t know where I am- they think I’m still inside Winterfell, and they’ll continue to think that for as long as I keep my head down. I still haven’t tried very hard to hurt any of you- but imagine, just  _ imagine,  _ what I could do if I put my mind to it.” She tilted her head to the side, predatory, deadly. “And I swear to you, if I watch my father die because of your cowardice, because of your family’s cruelty- I will burn Britain down to ashes before letting you sleep easy.”

After a heavy pause, Myrcella nodded.

“I’ll come tonight,” she whispered.

Sansa nodded, and dispelled the Notice-Me-Not around them. “I’ll see you then,” she murmured, and strode out of the restaurant.

…

Jon caught Sansa’s arm as she almost strode past them. When she whipped around, he saw the tears standing out in her eyes, and then she dragged him into a nearby alley and buried her face in his shoulder, shuddering with sobs.

“Dad’s- they’re trying him,” she whispered. “In two days. With  _ Dementors.” _

Jon went cold. “Oh,” he said, and it held scarcely a fraction of the pain he felt. “Oh, Sansa, I’m so sorry.”

Her head whipped up, red-rimmed eyes flashing with a rage that made him freeze.

“We’re gonna break him out,” Sansa told him, and it wasn’t a belief, or even a promise; just a fact. “We’ll save him, Jon.”

Wordless, speechless, heart caught in his throat, Jon nodded.

…

Sansa wrapped her arms tight around Bran when they arrived home.

“Dad’s in danger,” she said, staring into his eyes. “We have to save him. Bran, we’re in- trouble. Loads of trouble. We have to break into the Ministry, and-” Sansa exhaled slowly. “Well. We have a lot to do.”

Bran’s lips twisted in a faint smile, and for just a moment, he looked years older than his sixteen. “Dad says the only time a man can be brave is when he’s afraid.”

“Well,” commented Jon dryly, “I certainly am.”

Sansa huffed a laugh that broke on a sob at the end and buried her face in Bran’s shoulder for a moment before turning to Jon. 

“Then,” she said, “it’s time to be brave.”

…

Myrcella landed in the cold, whistling wind of the Eyrie.

Just as she was certain there was nothing there, Sansa stepped out of the shadows, her wand held aloft.

“Who’s with you?”

“My brother,” said Myrcella, voice wavering. “My- my younger brother. Tommen. He’s innocent, Sansa. Please- it doesn’t matter to me if I’m thrown in jail after all this. But keep him safe.”

She’d drugged him, before apparating to the Eyrie. Her sweet brother, the only kind person in a house full of lions- Myrcella couldn’t leave him behind. She  _ couldn’t. _

“You’re in no position to ask anything of me,” said Sansa, and Myrcella felt her tears freeze in the teeth of the icy winds at the top of the world. 

“No,” she agreed. “But I’m asking all the same.”

An interminable pause later, Sansa stepped forwards and gripped Myrcella’s elbow, and they apparated away. It wasn’t dread that filled Myrcella’s heart then; just relief, bright and hot as firewhiskey.

…

Sansa took them to a room in a small bar in Birmingham that was just shady enough to have an international Floo connection, not quite disreputable enough to merit Ministry attention. Upstairs in a small room, she sat down with Myrcella.

“I don’t mean to do anything to you,” she told Myrcella bluntly. “I’m not going to tell anyone that you deserve to go to jail. I’m not even going to hurt you. And I’m not going to promise you or Tommen safety if I can’t follow through on it.”

“Sansa, he’s  _ innocent.” _

Sansa nodded. “Then you’ll have to save him. See: tomorrow, you’re going to Floo-call some of your friends in the press- in both the  _ Prophet  _ and the French press- and then you’re going to spend the morning of the day after telling everyone the truth.”

“And how does this mean I can save Tommen?”

“Send him to France,” said Sansa. “In point of fact, get your own transport to France while you’re at it. Your grandfather isn’t the kindest man to those who betray him.”

“He’ll kill us,” said Myrcella. After a moment, almost soundlessly, she said, “You said you would kill me.”

“When did I say that?” Sansa asked, startled.

“In the- restaurant.” She waved the hand not wrapped securely around Tommen. “You said-  _ tell me why I shouldn’t do what your family did to mine.” _

Sansa felt a humorless laugh bubble from her lips. “I meant- humiliation. I meant to humiliate you, Myrcella, not- not  _ kill  _ you. I certainly hadn’t known what the aurors had planned for my father. I definitely didn’t mean that I’d kill you.”

“You should have,” said Myrcella. “You don’t- you don’t know  _ anything.  _ Joffrey’s crueler than anything you’ll ever know. Did you know that he killed a cat once, just because Tommen loved it? If you think you’d have been able to become an Unspeakable after marrying him- well. Mother wouldn’t have let you.”

“And for their sins I should have killed you?” Sansa shook her head. “I’m no monster. Sleep well, Myrcella. I shall see you tomorrow morning.”

“You trust me?”

She paused. “I trust that you won’t betray me,” said Sansa. “That you’ve enough intelligence, and enough bravery, to hold to your word. But more than anything, I trust that you loved Robb.”

“I love him,” Myrcella corrected.

“See?” Sansa smiled. “He’s always been easy to love. Even if I can’t trust myself- I do trust in that. And I mean it: sleep well. Tomorrow’s a busy day.”

…

**iv. we are wolves**

Myrcella felt her hands tremble as she stared into a mirror.

She looked like her mother.

Cersei Lannister was cold, and cruel, and selfish. She was lovely as a star, as well- and Myrcella had inherited all of it: golden curls, brilliant green eyes, flawless skin. It made something itch inside her like poison ivy, to see what Myrcella knew to be only a veneer over rot.

Once, when she was still young, when she still cried over Joffrey’s cruelties- her uncle Tyrion had gripped her arms and told her, more seriously than anyone had ever spoken to her: “You aren’t your mother, Myrcella. She breaks rather than bend, but you’re stronger than that. Don’t ever let yourself break, do you hear me?”

_ I’m not breaking,  _ she thought, twitching the sleeves of her robes over the still-dark bruises across her wrists.  _ This is a battle. No, this is a war- and I am playing to win. _

Tommen was already hidden in an Unplottable villa in Nice. As soon as Myrcella was finished, she’d follow him there. At least he wasn’t as angry or even all that confused over what she’d done- he’d never liked Joffrey, he said.

Myrcella had still found him shaking over breakfast yesterday morning- she’d embraced him, and then sent him away. She hoped he didn’t find her so heartless as she felt herself to be.

Straightening, Myrcella walked into the room full of reporters.

…

“Are you afraid?” Sansa asked.

Jon looked back at her.

Her father was in chains, and they were going to break into the Ministry to free him. Her brother and mother were imprisoned, her sister was lost, her other brother was walking into a viper’s nest, and they were going to _ break into the Ministry. _

“No,” he said, leaning forwards and slotting his fingers through hers. “I am not afraid, Sansa. I am with you.”

She didn’t smile, precisely, but her face softened, and her fingers tangled further in his.

…

“There are things that have been hidden from the wider community,” Myrcella began, back ramrod straight and voice ringing. “A conspiracy, the blame of which belongs on my family’s shoulders. Please, take your seats, all of you- this is a story that will take some time to tell.”

…

They walked into the Atrium, Sansa’s hair transfigured into something darker, her features shifted subtly to mimic Jon’s. Sansa kept her head down and laughed her way through the security check.

…

“You must have heard of the Old Thirteen,” said Myrcella. “The Founders of Hogwarts, of course, formed four of the houses, but all of them died out in name centuries ago. The Targaryens and Arryns died out in the First Wizarding War, twenty years ago. The Tullys and Blacks died out in the Second Wizarding War, when Sirius Black and Edmure Tully died in the Ministry and Hogwarts, respectively.” She breathed deep. “Over the past two years, there were three other houses that were destroyed, ostensibly for silently supporting Lord Voldemort: the Tyrells, the Greyjoys, and the Baratheons.”

She spread her arms wide. “Do you see? Of the Old Thirteen, there are only two houses left. And now, the aurors attempt to bring down the Starks as well.”

The reporters paused, staring at her. Myrcella smiled, wide and cold and empty as her mother’s best.

“The aurors,” she said. “The aurors, and the Lannisters. Tell me, do you know which is which?”

…

Sansa stunned two guards and strode past their bodies. Jon Disillusioned and hid them, and they walked with carefully studied ease into the North Wing, the place where all the auror offices were located. It was suicide, to do what they were doing- to walk into the very place that housed their worst enemies and hope they could save a good man; but then, Sansa had always been irritatingly optimistic.

“Do you know where the trial’s going to take place?” Jon asked in a low voice.

“No,” replied Sansa. “But I think I have a good idea.”

“Where?”

She tipped her head to a side-corridor with bright white lights and cold linoleum flooring- there was a sign above it, glittering dark purple and green, that read,  _ CAPTURED CRIMINALS. _

Jon blinked, and then swore under his breath, fumbling for his wand. Sansa let herself smile, faintly, and started forwards.

…

Bran frowned.

Sansa had given Myrcella a proper script to follow- one that he and Sansa and Jon had written, the very first night, full of all the accusations they could reasonably make against the Lannisters. Bran knew the script very, very well.

Myrcella had just walked straight off of it.

The only reason Bran was there in that room was to place a pamphlet detailing all the information they had on the Auror Heads- it was a simple job, even more so after he’d drunk Polyjuice. All he had to do was walk in, place the pamphlets in as many purses and pockets as he could, and walk out again. If it got particularly thorny, he could just place the list on a nearby table and direct a few reporters to it.

But Myrcella wasn’t following the  _ plan. _

She didn’t know that Bran was there. She didn’t know what he was doing. Myrcella didn’t know much of anything, in fact, other than that Sansa was furious over their father’s trial, that Sansa had escaped. Myrcella didn’t even know who Jon was.

“Merlin, I hate this,” he muttered under his breath, and then stepped further back, melding into the crowd as best he could, listening closely to Myrcella.

…

They were almost-  _ almost!-  _ down the corridor when the alarms started to ring.

Jon sent Sansa an alarmed look, and they both began to run; by mutual agreement, further into the complex instead of out.

_ I don’t know when I lost my mind,  _ thought Jon. Perhaps it was when he and Robb laughed together, all those years ago in Hogwarts. Perhaps it was when Robb brought his parents to his flat, and Ned Stark looked at him with those cool, hard eyes, and said,  _ Robb tells me you’re good at making portkeys.  _ Perhaps it was when he spent a full year with his head down and hands clenched tight around his wand, his tongue spitting out portkey-spells on a daily basis, a list of refugees and immigrants longer than his left arm and steadily growing in his mind. 

Or perhaps it was when he opened a door on a damp, haunted red-haired woman, and didn’t turn her away.

Jon didn’t know when he’d lost his mind, but he also didn’t know if he wanted to find it. And if nothing else, he believed Sansa when she said that they’d save her father: that kind of surety couldn’t do anything less than break the world.

…

Myrcella flattened her palms against her waist and smoothed the robes out.

“My grandfather is no fool,” she said. “Merlin had power the likes of which no wizard before or after can dream of; but he knew he couldn’t hold it. He gifted his magic to the thirteen great houses of his time, and charged them with the duty to protect Britain. The oldest Unplottable places, the safety of the sacred sites, the Dementor’s bindings- they’re all protected by Merlin’s magic. And Merlin’s magic was anchored by these thirteen houses. Had the Starks fallen, there would be no one to stand against my grandfather and a power that would leave Britain his in all but name.”

“You’re accusing your own grandfather of plotting to take such power?” One of the reporters asked. “Of- of destroying entire houses to get it?”

“It started with Stannis Baratheon,” she said. “When my brother hurt our cousin, Shireen, for daring to disagree with him- Stannis threw all three of us out of the house, labelling us not of his blood. Within a month’s time, house Baratheon was no more, destroyed completely- Stannis was thrown in Azkaban for crimes almost too ridiculous to believe, and his wife, daughter, and brother- along with his brother’s lover, Loras Tyrell- were killed.”

“And the Tyrells?”

“Their murders were linked to Loras Tyrell’s. But again, there was no evidence offered.” Myrcella shook her head. “The same goes for the Greyjoys. People scarce knew it had happened. These lies were buried deep, and buried easily, and I am here to tell all of you that I know why and I know  _ how  _ these crimes were committed.”

…

Sansa’s heart was in her throat as she skidded around the corner, following Jon; a moment later, she flinched from the brilliant light as three curses splashed against his Shield Charm. Through the light, she caught a glimpse of a familiar head of dark hair- 

_ “Stop!”  _ She snapped, and bolstered Jon’s  _ protego  _ with her own, yanking his wand down. “Stop, Jon- it’s-”

As the blinding light of spellfire faded, Arya came into view. Behind her stood two boys, both supporting two other people: her mother, and Robb. For all that both barely looked aware of the outside world, they were  _ alive-  _ and Sansa felt hope surge through her throat.

“Sansa,” breathed Arya. “Sansa- you’re- you’re alive?”

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?” Sansa asked, voice trembling. “Arya, gods, are you an idiot? Who told you it was okay to break into the goddamn Ministry? You- you absolutely  _ moronic  _ child, why-”

“If I’m a moron what’re you?” She asked, and they were stumbling forwards, they were wrapping around each other- and Arya was  _ real,  _ was solid in her arms as a dream could never be. “If I’m a moron  _ what are you?” _

“A fool,” said Sansa, sobs catching in her throat. “A fool and a Stark and worse, and I hate you so much, I was sure you were  _ dead.” _

“I thought  _ you  _ were,” replied Arya. 

Sansa exhaled and pulled away. She looked back at her mother, at Robb. “What’s- happened to them?”

“Gendry said something about it.”

One of the men- with thick black hair and bright blue eyes- nodded. “A variant on a sleeping potion,” he said. “Similar to Dreamless Sleep. The aurors have been buying them in big stock, and- well, now we know why.” He grimaced. “Using ‘em to keep their prisoners compliant.”

Sansa felt herself go pale, eyes meeting Jon’s. He looked just as tense as she felt.

“What is it?” Arya asked.

“D’you know what they’re doing to Dad?” Sansa asked, turning back to her.

She frowned. “I- no. I’d just heard that the aurors are going to be busy at this time- some idiot Frey told me- and so we broke in. But what about Dad?”

“They’re giving him a trial today,” said Sansa. “With Dementors.”

Arya choked. “What?”

Sansa nodded. “I- found out. It’s why Jon and I are even here- we need to save him. I’d thought Robb and Mum were in Azkaban.”

Spellfire flicked down the corridor, and Arya spun around with an oath; Jon shielded them, but there was a crowd of aurors and it was only growing. One of the boys supporting their mother and Robb started forwards, but Sansa waved them back.

“Is there another way out?” Jon asked.

Arya frowned. “No. Not unless we blast our way out.”

“Merlin  _ damn  _ it,” hissed Sansa. “We shouldn’t be here. Dad still needs us, and we’re caught. And we can’t even apparate-”

“There are too many!” Jon called, voice heavy with the strain; the shield spell was cracking under the continued barrage of the auror’s curses. “We’ll have to fall back if we don’t do something soon!”

_ There are too many.  _

Sansa felt something cold settle in her belly, and she lifted her wand.

…

Myrcella’s eyes skipped through the crowd, landing on a thin boy with hair the color of dirty water. His features were all wrong, his height too tall- but there was something in the set of his slender shoulders, in the tip of his neck, staring up at her. Something that she’d seen first in Robb, and then in Sansa.

_ You’re a Stark,  _ she thought, and felt a smile curve over the edges of her lips.

“The Aurors are corrupt,” she announced. “They have  _ been  _ corrupt, for years. My grandfather ensured it when Ramsay Bolton and Janos Slynt and Alliser Thorne took office.”

She looked down at the boy and spoke, directly to him.

“I was a coward, to hold my tongue for so long. I was afraid, and I was young; but if there’s one thing we ought to remember from the Second War- these are reasons, but not excuses.” Myrcella nodded. “Eddard Stark doesn’t deserve what has been done to him. The Starks don’t deserve what has been done to them. I hope that someday, they can find it in themselves to let me look them in the eye and apologize for my silence.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and she could only hope, now, that he’d understood her message, accepted her repentance.

“Thank you,” said Myrcella, stepping away from the podium, “thank you, all of you, for coming on such short notice. I hope- I hope you have a good day.”

She broke the silver charm across her wrist, and felt the pale blue magic of portkeys whip her away.

...

**v. immortals**

When Sansa was in her sixth year at Hogwarts, she’d read all the theory books that she could get her hands on, and she’d frowned.

There were pieces of magic that weren’t explained, that weren’t even questioned. The Fidelius could protect a secret, but where did it end? If a person were made a secret, what happened to them? Did the world just- forget? Unplottable buildings existed, but what about when people wrote directions instead of drawing them? And Unplottability varied;  _ Hogwarts, a History,  _ had maps of Hogwarts and its location, but the selfsame thing didn’t exist for Winterfell- and that wasn’t for lack of trying. Sansa had spent hours studying the wards, noting the smallest differences between the two.

Charms varied with strength, Sansa had concluded. It depended on the caster’s magic input, the location, even the time; but there wasn’t  _ anything  _ on that in any book she’d read.

Until she got into the Unspeakable program, and they handed her a book co-written by an Arabian and Indian scholar in the seventh century.

The notes ended abruptly, the rest of the book lost to time; but Sansa had been captured by the last legible sentence:  _ charms are the stuff of wind- quick to form, quick to fade- but imagine what could be done if they were more permanent- _

Three years later, Sansa had not only an answer, but a working prototype. She knew, in theory, how it should work. It would be how she became an Unspeakable, this magic. They’d made an exception for Hermione Granger, hadn’t they, despite her not having any formal NEWT grades; they’d surely make one for Sansa, if she were to show these notes.

Sansa’d bit her tongue and sat on her hypotheses for  _ years,  _ practically. Now, she gripped her wand tighter, and lifted it.

The Blasting Curse had a simple wand movement: a circle, and then a jab into the center. Sansa widened her movements, letting the circle widen to thrice the size of her head, her muscles flowing easily, her magic flowing with it. A glowing yellow circle sat in the air when she finished, the same symbol in Ancient Runes for  _ break. _

Sansa breathed in, centered herself, and flung one hand out, the wand snapping forwards in a perfectly positioned jab.

_ “Confringo!”  _ She heard herself cry, almost as an afterthought. 

The Ministry had wards surrounding their walls. They were powerful, and would require much more strength than any single person could supply. Sansa could feel herself stumble as it ate away at her magic, before the stabilizing power inherent in a rune’s shape kicked in. She flipped her hair behind her and bared her teeth and stood, firm.

The Ministry had wards- and though the wall flickered with pale purple and red shields, the wall beyond exploded, showering them all in plaster and bits of stone.

_ “Protego,”  _ rapped out Sansa, twisting to bolster Jon’s shield, which had faltered out of sheer shock. Then shouting over her shoulder, “Go, Arya! Take them to- Jon, tell her!  _ Go!” _

…

Jon looked at Sansa.

She’d gone pale and sweaty, but her wand was steady against the barrage of auror curses, for all that she was being steadily pushed back.

“You should go,” she said, even as she gritted her teeth.

Jon glanced behind him to make sure Robb, Catelyn, and the others had left.  _ I’ve gone mad,  _ he thought, and flicked his wand, shoulder brushing Sansa’s.

“I should,” he agreed. “But we’ve got to go save your father, remember?”

Sansa looked at him, startled, and then grinned.

“If you hold the shield, I can give us some time.”

“Then I’ll hold it.”

She hesitated. “You’ll- you’ll need to feel my magic. If we’re to do this correctly, I mean.”

It was Jon’s turn to be startled. There was a reason why most auror teams had more than strictly professional relationships- to work in tandem with another person, properly, both needed to have an intimate knowledge of each other’s magic. And the easiest way to do  _ that  _ was- well. 

_ It wouldn’t be terribly difficult,  _ whispered some small voice in the back of his head.  _ It isn’t as if she isn’t- _

“Jon!”

He winced and dragged himself back to reality. Sansa wasn’t offering anything other than survival, and he had to remember that. As much as he might want more.

“Yes,” he said, reaching out and blindly wrapping his fingers around her wrist. “Yes, it isn’t a problem. Do what you need to do.”

A moment later, they switched places; Jon returned to holding the shield, and Sansa began to draw golden spellfire in the air again. When he felt her magic sink into his, the hooks sharp and pleasant all the same, Jon was hard-pressed to maintain his focus on the shield.

And then everything contracted to a singular point as Sansa bit out,  _ “Now.” _

Jon dropped the shield and dragged Sansa to the floor-

-the world exploded.

…

The rest of the reporters swarmed forwards. Bran let his stack of papers detailing auror corruption slip out of his hand, and then walked out. The blue flash of an activated portkey didn’t even register amidst the rest of the reporters.

He ended up on a cliff, the roar of the sea loud in his ears. Bran turned and eyed the small cottage set up in the side- a summer home, the sort that he and Sansa had almost forgotten existed after so many years locked inside Winterfell. 

When he opened the door, he entered a home already containing his sister, mother, brother, and two strangers.

…

Even as the second spell blasted into the aurors, forcing them to stop, forcing them to regroup, Sansa wrapped her fist around Jon’s shoulder and twisted into him, sketching out a second rune and forcibly bending the anti-apparition wards around the Ministry.

_ Bending,  _ because she was still apparating inside the building, not leaving.

It wiped her out, though, this third one in a row. The world spun, and Sansa could barely keep her balance. Jon caught her before she could fall.

“You okay?” He asked, grey eyes wide and serious. 

Sansa remembered the pale, shining look on Bran’s face that morning. She remembered Arya’s rage, Robb’s numbness, her mother’s emptiness. She remembered Rickon’s screaming laughter the night before they went to Casterly Rock. She remembered the pride in her father’s face when he told her to walk away.

When she’d jumped out of Casterly Rock, she’d turned, and even as she’d fallen she’d seen her father, surrounded on all sides by men in thick blue robes. She’d spent every night since thinking on that image, marvelling at it: for all that he was unarmed and helpless, there hadn’t been any fear in his eyes.

She yanked herself upright. 

“Yes,” said Sansa. “I’m fine. Now, let’s go get him.”

…

They found Ned Stark in a cell close to the outer part of the Wing, gaunt and worn, the same lackluster look on his face as both Catelyn and Robb. The corridor was empty, but it likely wouldn’t remain so for long. The look on Sansa’s face made something crack in Jon’s chest.

“Can you apparate us out?” Jon asked Sansa.

She hesitated. “I- It’ll be difficult.”

“I told Arya to go to the seaside cottage,” he told her. “We should probably go there. And if we can’t leave the Ministry by apparating-”

“How did they leave?”

“One of the guys with her had some blasting thing- something that could blast through wards.” Jon propped Ned up slightly better. “Arya said it was a one-time thing, and before she could tell you they had it you’d gone and done something- well.  _ Idiotic,  _ was what she used, but I’m not quite sure destroying walls in the Ministry can be classified so simply as that.”

“So they’re gone.” Sansa exhaled, slowly. “We have to go to the cottage.”

The faint tread of shoes across the floor could be heard. Jon turned and shifted Ned higher, all the better to run. 

“You’ll have to figure something out,” he said. “Or else, you know, we can run. But I don’t know how effective that’ll be, so-”

Sansa reached out and caught his arm. Her eyes were very blue when she looked up at him.

“If I fall,” she told him, “you’re catching me.”

“Wait, wha-”

Before he could finish speaking, Sansa stepped forwards, and pressed a quick, close-mouthed kiss to his lips. Jon choked, and even as he squawked, she dragged him into a thin, airless tube. As if from far away, he heard the recoil of something, almost like a bowstring breaking, and then Sansa’s scream. They landed in a small alley.

Sansa turned, trembling like a leaf, and before his eyes, she fainted.

Jon cursed and scrambled to catch her, but it was like a lobster trying to be graceful; all he could do was lessen her fall. The only saving grace was that they hadn’t apparated three feet in another direction, where they’d have been in plain sight of a thousand muggles. After a moment, he cursed some more and wrapped his arms around them both- father and daughter- and closed his eyes, twisting into the air, heading to safety.

…

Sansa woke slowly, drifting into consciousness as if from a dream.

The first thing she noticed was the soft bed she was on. The second was an ache that seemed to sink into every single one of her muscles. The last was the dull, comforting sound of the ocean, and the far nearer murmur of voices. 

She curled towards it, blinking open gritty eyes. The voices cut off and then she felt a warm hand lift her up. Sansa blinked again, and her hazy vision finally resolved into two figures: Bran, and Jon, behind him. There was a soft smile on both their faces, and Sansa leaned further into the pillows at her back, letting them bear her weight.

“Did we-” she coughed, and shook away Bran’s offer of a glass of water. “Did we do it, then?”

Jon nodded. “We got out, if that’s what you’re asking. But none of us feel up to going into town and finding out what everyone else makes of all the shit we aired right before we dropped off the radar, so…”

“I’ve been  _ saying,”  _ began Bran.

“Let me rephrase,” said Jon, folding his arms over his chest. “None of the responsible  _ adults _ want to go into town.”

Bran exhaled noisily. “You’re worse than Mum,” he accused.

Jon shrugged, and Sansa rubbed away the sleep from her eyes, struggling not to roll them while at it.

“How are they?” She asked. “Everyone?”

“Arya’s fine, just moping because the two guys with her scrambled as soon as we came.” Jon ticked them off on his fingers, one by one. “Robb and your mother are fine, just recovering from the aurors and their-  _ treatment-  _ of them. Your mum broke her arm, and he had a dislocated shoulder, but they’ll be okay in a couple of days, nothing a couple of potions couldn’t fix. Catelyn was angrier that you came after her and didn’t get Rickon than anything, I think.”

“I  _ knew  _ Rickon was fine!” Sansa protested. “The Mormonts took him in, and they’re good people-”

He shrugged. “Don’t know anything about that. Mmm- your dad’s a bit worse off than both of ‘em- I think they gave him a higher dose of that damned sleeping potion. But nothing worse than that.” His lips quirked. “We were worried about you, actually: no one knew  _ why  _ you fell over, until Bran thought it was magical exhaustion.”

Sansa grimaced. “It was. Breaking those wards, sending a larger Blasting Curse against the aurors, apparating inside the Ministry- it was tiring.” She lifted one shoulder, not quite defensive. “I probably shouldn’t have apparated us out, but we didn’t have any other choices.”

“We could’ve run.”

“We could’ve left Britain while we were at it too,” replied Sansa archly, and then sank into another coughing fit. This time she accepted the water, and glared at her arm the whole time it trembled tellingly.

Jon nodded and turned to leave before abruptly turning back. “You’ve been asleep for a couple days,” he told her. “I’m going to tell Arya now, so- you ought to know. She’ll probably jump on you.”

Sansa wanted to ask him precisely why he looked so awkward, and then, abruptly, she remembered- she’d kissed him, and then promptly fainted. And he likely didn’t want this- whatever  _ this  _ was- at all. Sansa’d been utterly stupid, once more.

But before she could say anything, he left. She winced internally and then turned, firmly letting it go, focusing instead on Bran.

“One week and he’s gotten quite a good handle on her,” she commented.

Bran laughed, and less than five minutes later they heard a telltale shriek; within a minute, Arya’d burst into the room, flinging herself into Sansa’s arms, practically throttling her in her own, unique interpretation of a hug. 

Sansa leaned back, gasping for breath, but her arms remained tight on Arya’s, and for just a few minutes she felt like it all might be okay.

…

“You remember Thorne?” Jon leaned back, stretching his legs beside Robb.

Robb shifted. “The guy who wouldn’t let you take a leave of absence from the auror program?”

“When Mum got really bad, yeah.” He let a slow smile pull at his lips. “Turns out the asshole was in Tywin Lannister’s pocket since the Targaryens died, and we basically murdered any job opportunities he could ever have in the future three days ago, so… well. Call me petty, but.”

“You’re not unhappy?” Robb asked, chuckling. 

Jon laughed, deep and loud. 

He’d hated Alliser Thorne and his stiff, useless rules since his first day at training, and Thorne had reciprocated. Less than a year later, when his mother’s sickness went from manageable to worse, Jon had asked for a temporary break from the auror program on the basis of family reasons. Thorne had categorically refused, and Jon had walked out that very day. He’d never regretted it, but he’d also disliked Thorne with a deep, vicious emotion ever since.

And now, here they were.

“An understatement,” he said, and Robb grinned back.

…

Ned awoke on the fourth day of their confinement to the seaside cottage.

The entire house felt lighter after that.

…

On the fifth day, Arya lost any and all patience she had with staying cooped up inside the home. When everyone had been unconscious, it’d been eerily quiet; now, with everyone awake, the house felt too small. 

The food was also getting progressively worse.

Arya decided to go for a grocery run. Her family, up to and including Bran, had always been prolific. Arya, however, had only ever cared for her own loves, and once a career in duelling had been nixed by both her parents, she’d faded into the background. Not troublesome, precisely, but certainly rebellious; it was only recently that she’d found the Brotherhood without Banners and considered joining any sort of a club.

Saving innocent people seemed like a good thing to do.

And doing it without the stupid formalities and politics that came with being an auror-  _ especially  _ after seeing Jon and how the force had screwed him over- it was nice. It sounded nice. It sounded interesting, too, and that was something Arya wanted to be able to name her life. 

Which all spiralled back to the fact that Arya wasn’t as noticeable as anyone else in her family, and had a positive gift for using her height and big eyes to make people underestimate her. A short trip to a nearby grocery store wouldn’t damage  _ anything. _

“I can do this,” she near-snarled at Sansa. “I’ll do it, and I’ll come back quickly, don’t you worry. But if I have to stay in this house for one more hour with all of you  _ nosy  _ people, I’m going to go insane, so you aren’t going to stop me!”

Sansa hesitated, and after a long pause nodded.

Arya huffed and then walked out of the house.

…

Sansa was trimming the hedges in the front garden when Arya apparated into the middle of it, clutching a paper to her chest, white-faced.

Immediately, Sansa whipped her wand upwards, ready to start the process of strengthening the wards. 

“What happened?” She demanded.

Arya blinked. “It- it’s-  _ gods.  _ Just read it.” She shoved the paper at Sansa.

She took it, frowning at the header. A moment later, it registered, and her head snapped up, meeting Arya’s eyes. Arya nodded, confirming what Sansa’d just read, and then both turned and ran into the house.

…

Jon looked at Sansa as she tossed the paper onto Ned’s lap.

Her eyes were bright as stars, her hands twisting nervously. Arya, beside her, looked just as anxious. But it wasn’t fear written across their faces: it was  _ hope. _

He looked down at the paper and felt his brows lift at the headline:  _ Stark Family Declared Innocent.  _ Jon shifted closer, reading the article underneath as rapidly as he could.

_ As of this morning, more than ninety-four muggleborns have stepped out of anonymity to pledge to the Starks’ innocence. Bowing to public pressure, the British government formally announced the Stark patriarch’s innocence yesterday evening, and apologized for their rash actions. _

_ Since French newspapers broke the story less than a week ago, the British government has faced diplomatic sanctions from fifteen nations and a request from the International Confederation of Wizards for documents on all the incarcerated citizens from the past twenty years. Britain was scheduled to host an international conference, consisting of numerous heads of state and the Supreme Mugwump, in May. According to insider sources, the planned timetable is being heavily edited to focus on Britain’s continuing battle with corruption and illegal incarceration. _

_ This is not the first time the British government has faced sanctions. Three years ago, when the news of Sirius Black’s innocence was released, along with an announcement of his death, the Minister at the time- Robert Baratheon, a decorated war hero- refused to comment. _

_ [For more information, see pg. 11] _

Ned flipped the page, and Jon shifted, eyes catching Sansa’s by pure accident.

“I know these people,” whispered Catelyn, trailing a finger down the list of names printed in the sidebar. “We all know- Tormund was the first to speak up. Then… Val. Gods, Ned, they’re risking  _ everything  _ by speaking up. I mean, look at this! Gilly has a  _ child.  _ If they-”

Jon watched Sansa closely, but then she turned away and addressed everyone.

“Does this mean we’re not locked inside any longer?” She leaned forwards, hands tight on the wooden footboard. “Dad- how long can you protect us? We need to learn to fend for ourselves.”

“It isn’t safe,” he replied. “There’s still people- your mother was just  _ saying-” _

“Oh, Merlin save us from-” she broke off, eyes lifting heavenwards, than back to Ned. “Do you think anyone’s actually listened to your instructions apart from- Rickon, really, because I didn’t listen either.”

“None of you?” Ned demanded. Then, louder,  _ “None  _ of you?”

Arya’s face twisted. Robb, behind her, folded his arms over his chest. Bran looked away.

Sansa flipped her hair behind her, squaring her shoulders. “I think this entire episode is proof that we  _ can  _ survive on our own.”

“And lying’s exhausting,” said Arya. “None of us want to do it, Dad, but you always refused to hear any of our protests. Because I love you, very much, but there’s only so long I can hide until- until I can’t any more. And I think it’s past time that you realize that we’re  _ adults.” _

“Arya-” Catelyn began.

“No, she’s right,” said Robb. “I’ve hidden a lot, over the last couple of years. I’m not proud of it, but- I have. And I think that we need to stop, or things aren’t going to get better. We need to start  _ talking,  _ and we need space.”

Bran shifted slightly. “It’s better if you know what we’re getting into, right? Instead of us jumping into dangerous situations without any help.”

After a long, tense moment, Catelyn nodded slowly.

“Let’s talk more about this later,” she said, looking over at Ned, who was still flushed. “Why don’t you leave us right now?”

It’d been phrased as a question, but the iron in her tone turned it into an order. Jon trooped out, dutifully, with the other Starks. 

Sansa snorted when they arrived in the kitchen.

“So that’s taken care of,” said Robb.

Arya rolled her eyes. Bran nudged Jon aside and took a can of orange juice that had been left on the table. Sansa caught the confused look on his face.

“Mum always  _ talks  _ to Dad when things get ridiculous,” she explained. “And when she does, Dad gives in. They’ll come out tonight for dinner, and tell everyone that they’ve thought very long and very hard on this thing-”

“-and everyone keeps a straight face, which is the hardest thing to do,” said Arya, slapping at Bran when he went to drink the juice.

Sansa shot her a glare and shrugged. “And that they agree with us. It’s all basically to save face at this point, but you have to play it. I mean, there was this one time when Arya just started grinning as soon as we sat down for dinner, and Mum got really irritated. And let me tell you, Mum’s  _ spiteful  _ when she’s irritated.”

“Downright mean,” said Robb. “Gods, there was this one time when she refused to let Theon into our home, ‘cause he’d tracked mud in the last time and I should’ve told him to apologize-”

_ “Anyways,”  _ Sansa said, loudly, speaking over Robb, “we’re cool on the whole thing. Which means- things are going to change.”

Jon arched an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. “So you’re gonna become an Unspeakable now?”

She shrugged, and the movement caught the light from the setting sun behind her; for a moment, backlit by a brilliant glow, she looked almost angelic.

“I’m rethinking that,” she said, shifting closer to him. “I’m… I really did want to be one. But after everything that happened in the Ministry- I’m just not sure whether it makes sense to become an Unspeakable when all I want to do is  _ talk.” _

Jon laughed. “It really doesn’t sound like the best idea.” When Sansa smiled at him, soft and slow, he felt something in him shrink away.

They still hadn’t talked about the kiss. Jon was- not afraid, not precisely. But over the course of one afternoon, Sansa had let him feel her magic, kissed him, and fainted in his arms. He didn’t feel remotely ready to face whatever madness that had overtaken him during that time.

It was fine for her- she’d been unconscious. But Jon  _ hadn’t,  _ and he’d had ample time to think things over.

When Arya and Bran went from slapping at each other to something more violent and Sansa went to go break them up, he slipped out the back door of the kitchen.

…

The next morning, Sansa wrapped herself in a multi-patterned shawl and took some tea outside, to the cliff where she’d seen Jon sit, staring out at the ocean. Dawn painted the world delicately, all soft pink and violet and grey-edged-blue, and she wondered when she’d last seen the world so closely, before Jon and his warm, large eyes which seemed to swallow the entire world.

“I missed you,” she said, handing him a cup of tea. “Last night, I mean.”

Jon slanted a look at her, sideways. “I thought you might want some time- alone. To figure things out. I mean, there’s a whole new world out there.”

She quirked a smile. “There is,” she said. “It’s a scary thing, isn’t it, to look out there and think,  _ I could do anything?” _

“It is. Which is why I-”

“But,” she continued blithely, “I am not afraid.” 

Jon stilled, as she reached forwards and laced her fingers through his. The sunrise was slow, perfect, warm. It painted them both in light, and Sansa’d spent so long in darkness- she lifted their joined hands and inspected it, peeking at Jon through her lashes. The wind whipped salt waves around them, stinging her cheeks, and Sansa held tight to her courage.

They had a lifetime ahead of them, of choices and wishes and dreams- but Sansa wanted  _ this,  _ right here, right in front of her. They had a lifetime ahead of them, and perhaps this would falter, perhaps this wasn't strong enough to hold up against their ambitions- but Sansa had seen what single-minded blindness could do, and she wouldn’t ever let herself become lost in a single goal, not again.

“I am not afraid,” she repeated, and it was a promise. It was a vow.  But more than anything, above all else, it was the  _ truth.  _ “I am with you, Jon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me on dialux.tumblr.com ! New friends are always welcome!


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